Upheaval
by Dash O'Pepper
Summary: There's eleven days left to zero. But what happened in the scenes not shown in the episode. This is my attempt to fill in those blanks, and tie up a few loose ends.
1. Prologue

**Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea** ~ _"Upheaval"  
_ by Dash O'Pepper _  
_

 **Author's Notes :** This work is set around the timeline for the TV series (1980). As with most series, technology may be a bit more advanced than that time period in our own universe.  
Based on the pilot episode "Eleven Days to Zero" (#1.01) written by Irwin Allen. This is my attempt to fill in what I feel were missing scenes within that episode. Where necessary, some original dialogue has been included, and a few liberties were taken with canon, which I hope won't detract from the reader's enjoyment.

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

* * *

 **To:** United States Geological Survey National Earthquake Center  
 **From:** Dr. Claude Selby; Dr. Fred Wilson — USC–Berkley  
 **Date:** 11 April 1964  
 **Re:** Prince William Sound, Alaska

 **Gentlemen, in reviewing data collected during routine seismic examination of Pacific Ridge/San Andreas fault for 26 March 1964,** isoseismic changes in the area reflected severe tectonic pressure build-up along Pacific coast region.

Extrapolating data from these variations along the outer ridge (height of .35 cm at study zone), and using current available technologies, including sonar, Doppler and satellite mapping via Telstar, it becomes apparent that these geological upheavals may have had a direct impact on the Prince William Sound, Alaska earthquake and tsunami.

Recommendation to committee to provide for further study in the plotting of all geographic fault lines with primary research facilities located along the Pacific and Atlantic coastal ridges, specifically using Doppler and satellite, under the auspices of the USGSNEC and International Council of Scientific Unions, for all member countries of ICSU.

If the Earth is "telegraphing" geo-upheaval as clearly as we believe it is, we may have had as much as a two-day warning of the devastation at PWS. With further study, and advancements in technology, we feel strongly that within the next decade we could achieve as much as a seven-day notice of all isoseismic disturbances.

* * *

 **Disclaimer** **:** _Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea_ is a registered trademark of 20th Century Fox and Irwin Allen Productions. This work of fan fiction is not meant in any way to infringe on copyrights already held by these companies, their subsidiaries or their estates.


	2. The Enemy Within

_**The Enemy Within**_

* * *

 **The control room of the SSRN _Seaview_ had remained abuzz with activity** since the submarine left the XP-1 sea lab four hours earlier. What should have been a routine mission—merely collecting oceanographic data on the seabed—had left Admiral Harriman Nelson agitated. And, it had far more to do with the latest research results, than with Nelson's personal dislike for Dr. Ted Jenkins, thought Lieutenant Commander Chip Morton.

His opinion had only been reinforced by the Admiral's urgent transmission to _Seaview_ 's sister ship, the USN _Polidor_ in the Atlantic; the communiqué to a Dr. Claude Selby at the U.S. Geological Survey in Washington; and his call to the Pentagon. Something was definitely up, and Nelson wasn't sharing that information with anyone…yet. He had merely ordered the Captain to proceed at flank speed back to base at Santa Barbara.

* * * *.*

Chip slammed his fist down on the desk. It was a useless gesture, and did nothing to relieve the frustration he felt since the sub had docked. Hell, he was _Seaview_ 's Exec, and the Admiral had dismissed him from that meeting as though he were some green Ensign. In all his years in service, it had to reign as one of the more bizarre conversations he'd ever had with a superior.

Why in God's name would Nelson have called him in to discuss his relatives? He didn't even think the Admiral knew all that much about him. Yet, he had spent fifteen minutes making idle conversation about his sister and her family. Were they still at the Cape? When was the last time Chip had seen his niece and nephew? Was Pat still in charge of security at the Space Center? Fifteen minutes…before he had been politely ordered to return to duty, and excluded from the _Council of War_ that was obviously being held between the Admiral and Captain Phillips.

But there was more to it than that; he was sure of it. Nelson had been genuinely concerned with his responses to those questions. And the questions that kept going through his mind were: Why? Had something happened that no one was telling him? Had Jenkins or Winslow discovered something at the XP-1 that might have an impact on the Cape?

There were just too many questions that needed answering. So, it was with a mix of both foolishness and nervousness that Chip was now phoning his sister.

 _Hullo?_

Chip smiled as he tried to visualize his eight-year-old niece answering the phone. It had been two years since he'd last seen her. "Hullo. Paula, it's Uncle Chip. Is Mommy there?"

 _Uncle Chip!_ The squeal of delight was deafening, and he had to pull the handset away from his ear. _I got the Barbie you sent me. She's beautiful. I play with her all the time._

 _I wanna talk to Uncle Chip!_ He heard his five-year old nephew's voice in the background.

 _He's talking to me. He doesn't want to talk to you._

 _Hi, Uncle Chip!_

Everything sounded normal enough. Paula and Michael didn't sound any more upset than two siblings fighting over a telephone.

"Hi, Tiger," he yelled into the mouthpiece.

 _See, he does too wanna talk to me._

At any other time, Mickey's statement would have been true; Chip did enjoy his all too infrequent phone visits with the two of them. In many ways, they were a redux of his and Pat's childhood visits with their own Uncle Elwood. But there wasn't time for that right now.

"Cookie," he called her by the nickname he had given her since infancy, "can I speak with Mommy? It's kind of important."

 _She's still at the base. Dad's home. D'ya wanna speak with him?_

While he wasn't security, he was as plugged in as Chip could get. "Sure. Put him on."

 _Dad! It's Uncle Chip for you!_ Paula's voice was known to carry from one end of the house to the other. If she decided to follow in her parents' footsteps for a career in the military, Chip had no doubt she'd wind up a four-star General.

He heard the click on the line as one of the extensions was picked up.

 _It's okay, honey, I've got it._

' _S 'kay, Dad. Bye, Uncle Chip._

"Bye, Cookie. Bye Mickey."

 _Sorry, Chip, it's my turn to cook dinner…Paula hang up the phone. Now!_

Chip laughed to himself. At one time, Roger had been the self-professed playboy at NASA—one of the few single men in the astronaut program. It was scary to think how domesticated he had become after marriage. Yet, Pat was happy; Roger had never stood in the way of her career. They were the exception to most military marriages. Besides, he adored her and the kids, and that was really all that mattered.

 _Tish's not home, but I expect her within the hour._

"I know. Paula told me." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Is anything wrong?"

 _Except that I'm about to burn…_ He paused as the meaning of Chip's inflection dawned on him. His reply became more formal. _Not that I'm aware of. Heard something?_

"Nothing definite. Just a feeling that something's coming down."

 _Don't knock those feelings. Over the years, I've come to rely on…my own sixth sense, as it were, in times of trouble._

"Maybe the problem's on this end."

*.*.*.*.*

Capt. John Phillips fumbled idly with the window controls of the limousine. The air conditioning hadn't worked properly since they'd started the drive to Vandenberg, and trying to find a comfortable window position had been a problem. After their return, he'd have to remember to tell Morton to have a conversation with the Chiefs about the work of the motorpool crew.

He turned a brief glance at his commanding officer and fellow passenger, and was surprised to see that unlike him, Nelson seemed to be unaffected by the summer heat.

"What's on your mind, John?"

The Admiral had an uncanny knack of reading him, and he found it disconcerting. "I'm just puzzled, Admiral, why you didn't share this information with Morton. He's a good man."

"One of the best," Nelson nodded in agreement. "But, Chip has family on the coast. Family he's close to." His tone became graver, "If your family were here and not in Denver, I'd be making this trip alone."

Realizing he had been chastised for his comment, the Captain let the matter drop. Phillips had been with the Admiral since _Seaview_ had been commissioned; he knew his moods, his strengths and his weaknesses, yet he found himself always surprised when the man did something compassionate—it always seemed, to him, completely out of character. Maybe he didn't know his boss as much as he liked to think.

He reached for the window control again, and, looking out, wondered why a traffic helicopter was hovering along this deserted stretch of mountain road?

*.*.*.*.*

Chip's hand was shaking as he placed the receiver back onto its cradle.

 _Dead! The Captain and four of the crew assassinated. What the hell was going on?_

He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves, and began making a mental list of all that needed to be done. The Admiral had been very guarded in what he revealed in their phone conversation, just asking him to make no mention to the crew of their Captain and shipmates's deaths—merely that there had been an accident.

The office suddenly seemed claustrophobic, as though the walls were closing in on him. This all had to be related to what the Admiral had avoided divulging earlier. So, he was still in the dark as far as knowing the reasons behind what was promising to be a very dangerous assignment.

As XO, though, his main priority was in learning how a leak had happened, and who was the traitor at the Institute. This might, at least, buy the Admiral some time. And he had a feeling from the urgency in Nelson's voice that time definitely was not on their side.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the Admiral's office to speak with his executive assistant, Angie, to set up his own council of war.

 _Good-afternoon, Admiral Nelson's office._

"Angie, it's Chip.

 _Why hullo there, stranger._ She hadn't recognized the urgency in his voice.

"I need an emergency security meeting ASAP with Admiral Park and Commodore Emery."

 _What's wrong, Chip?_

"Not over the phone." He was leaving nothing to chance. If there was a leak, there was always the possibility that the phones might be tapped as well. "Can you get them to the Admiral's office within a half-hour?" Chip knew that his superior's office was the most secure room on base.

 _I'll have them here in fifteen minutes._

"Good. I'll be right over."

*.*.*.*.*

The Admiral's office was just down the hall from his own, but Chip's guard was up. Anyone he passed in the corridor could be a suspect, and it unnerved him. Hell, as much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, in this situation, even Adm. Park and Cmdor. Emery were not above reproach.

Nodding to Angie as he entered the Admiral's reception area, he asked, "Were you able to reach them?"

From his posture, Nelson's assistant could tell this was no time for idle chit-chat. "Yes. They'll both be here in a few minutes. Do you want me taking notes?"

He nodded. He didn't know how far he might be crossing the line with the Admiral's orders, but as XO, it was his duty to put the wheels in motion to get to the bottom of things—at least on base.

Entering the Admiral's office, he slid open the security panel to activate the debugging devices: this way, anyone attempting to eavesdrop would get nothing but an earful of static.

Chip looked at the chair behind the Admiral's desk, but thought better of sitting in it; he had the disquieting feeling that the weight of the world resided in that chair at the moment. The conference table would do just as well.

There was a knock on the door, and he replied, "Enter."

Angie ushered in Adm. Park and Cmdor. Emery, and closed the door behind them, effectively sealing them all from the outside world.

"Admiral. Commodore." Chip nodded to each in turn, and indicated for them to take a seat. Angie was already seated with her notebook out to record the meeting.

"Commander." Park always maintained a more formal relationship with his subordinates than _Seaview_ or NIMR's protocol demanded.

"Chip, what's going on?" asked Emery. The Commodore was the exact opposite of the Admiral, preferring instead an easy-going informality.

Each man had oversight of the two arms of the Nelson Institute for Marine Research. Admiral Park was in charge of the day-to-day operations of NIMR, and handled the duties of the Institute that fell under USN review. Emery handled the part of the operation that made the public's attention: its marine biology research, the public seaquarium, and media relations. While their duties overlapped from time to time, each was responsible, under the auspices of Adm. Nelson, for the two different facets of the Institute.

"Nothing said in here leaves this room," began Chip. "Even those with an Alpha-One clearance aren't to know."

With a nod, they gave their words.

"We've got a major breach in security—"

"What?" interrupted Park. "We do monthly re-evaluations on all personnel within the Institute."

"It could be anywhere, sir" said Chip warily. "I'll be re-evaluating _Seaview_ 's personnel, as well."

"What exactly happened, Chip?" asked the Commodore.

"I'm not at liberty to say, sir" he replied honestly. "The Admiral's not even aware I've called this meeting. So, you may be looking at your soon-to-be ex-XO."

Emery gave a wry smile. Morton was a thorough man, and had made a fine Executive Officer. His decision to go over the Admiral's head meant that there was something big looming on the horizon, and he was attempting to get a handle on it early.

Park wasn't nearly as impressed by Morton's initiative. "You're jumping Nelson on this?"

The Lieutenant Commander wasn't about to be intimidated by a superior; there were too many things that needed attending. "Let's put it this way, Admiral: considering what's just been dumped in my lap, I'd jump the Joint Chiefs if I thought it was necessary."


	3. On a Wing and a Prayer

_**On a Wing and a Prayer**_

* * *

 **Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the nuclear submarine the _USS Montana,_ ** was on deck, inspecting a work detail of his boat. After three months sea duty, his crew was welcoming some much needed R&R, while routine maintenance was being performed on the sub at the San Diego Naval Base.

"Feels good to be home, doesn't it Dave?" he asked of his XO and good friend, Lt. Cmdr. David Walker.

Walker nodded his agreement, but added, "You're also supposed to be taking in some downtime, Lee."

"I will, but—"

His Executive Officer finished his CO's thoughts: "She's your baby, and you just can't let her out of your sight."

"Shows that much, huh?"

Walker nodded. "You're only a few months into the big chair. Cut yourself some slack."

Cmdr. Crane shook his head: it was easier said than done. At age 34, he was the youngest man ever to Captain a US submarine in peace time, and had a lot to prove not just to himself, but to both the higher-ups in the Naval Department and those in the DoD who felt he was too inexperienced to handle such responsibility.

"Captain, urgent message coming through for you on scramble from COMSUBPAC." The radio-man came from below deck to hand his superior the notification.

"All right, Sparks, I'll take it in my cabin."

"Aye, sir." He saluted his Captain, and went back below to handle the communications relay.

"Never a dull moment with you, is there?"

"Just lucky, I guess." Crane nodded to his XO. "You have the con, Dave."

"Aye, sir."

*.*.*.*.*

Sitting behind his desk, Cmdr. Crane switched on the video phone, and hit the scramble signal button, before taking the call.

"Crane, here."

The Admiral on the other end of the line didn't waste time with pleasantries. "ONI believes you're the best man for this job."

 _I'm flattered,_ he thought ironically, but avoided saying it aloud. Prior to becoming the _Montana_ 's Captain, Crane had intermittently done assignments for the Office of Naval Intelligence, and had the scars to prove it. "What's my mission, sir?"

"You'll be briefed en-route. A plane's been prepped for you at North Island, which will take you to your final destination."

"I'll have my gear together in about ten minutes," he responded.

"Negative. You'll leave the _Montana_ in civvies. A taxi will be awaiting you at the main gate. Number 256. To all outward appearances, you're taking some well-deserved R&R. Everything you need will be provided for you."

"Sir, what do I tell my XO?" As Captain, Crane was used to sharing information with his Lieutenant Commander.

"Nothing He'll be duly informed that you were called away for temporary re-assignment."

"Aye, sir."

"Carpenter, out." And with that the vid-phone was disconnected.

 _They're not wasting any time that's for sure,_ he thought, as he shut off his own vid-phone. Whatever mission they'd assigned to him must be important. Getting up from his desk, he went to his wardrobe to choose something suitably neutral to wear. Deciding on a pair of khakis and a blue button-down shirt, he hurriedly changed his clothes.

*.*.*.*.*

"Well, that must have been a real important call," said his Executive Officer as he looked at his Skipper's informal attire.

"Yeah, it was," laughed Lee. He brought Walker conspiratorially close to him, "I've just been ordered to take some much needed R&R."

The XO rolled his eyes. "Nice to see my tax dollars at work."

"Some efficiency expert at COMSUBPAC, making certain he keeps his tail out of a sling." He was making idle conversation for the benefit of anyone who might be listening; it always paid to remain on guard.

"He's right, old man, sometimes you just can't be pried from duty."

Crane winked at Walker. "I've got some free time and spare cash. How much trouble can I get into?"

Walker laughed, "If I recall that time at the Academy…"

"And if you recall, _Mr. Walker,_ " Lee stressed his XO's rank, "I've got crew evaluations coming up; so, we'll just forget that time at the Academy."

"Aye-aye, sir."

They both laughed heartily. "I'll see you later, Dave."

"Enjoy yourself, Lee. You deserve it."

*.*.*.*.*

As he flagged down taxi number 256, anyone looking at Lee Crane would have believed him to be little more than an off-duty sailor, out for a little fun and good times. They'd be hard-pressed to see the steely determination masked behind his ostensibly laughing amber-coloured eyes.

Getting into the cab, he mumbled something about downtown, knowing full-well it was for the benefit of anyone eavesdropping. Beside the driver, there was nothing inside the taxi: no manila envelope with his orders; no folder with information concerning his mission. Whatever he'd been assigned to, they intended to keep him in the dark until he reached the North Island Naval Air Station, and even then, he wasn't certain how much they intended to reveal. These kinds of assignments were never covered in field training, and you were left to take the job on a wing and a prayer.

*.*.*.*.*

The drive to North Island was without incident. While Lee made a mental note of his driver's face via the rearview mirror, the man hadn't said anything since he got in the cab. Just as well, he thought, it gave him the opportunity to steel himself for the mission ahead, without being interrupted by idle conversation. All he knew for certain at the moment was that a security blanket was on, which likely meant trouble with a capital "T".

Surprisingly, security wasn't as tight as he expected when they finally reached the NAS. The SPs had reviewed his and the driver's IDs, doing nothing more than a routine spot-check. Ever vigilant, however, Lee spotted two undercover operatives strategically placed to target the cab should it be necessary.

"Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice," he said half-aloud.

"Did you say something, sir?" asked the driver.

"Nothing that bears repeating."

"Aye, sir."

With their IDs checked, the taxi made its way through the gate, and headed directly to the jet that was awaiting him.

Crane was a bit surprised to see that it wasn't a Navy fighter jet or transport, but an unmarked civilian Learjet that was to be his method of transportation to his assignment. It appeared they were bringing him in under deep cover, with nothing connecting him to his naval roots.

The taxi stopped on the tarmac, near the plane's ramp. Everything seemed to have been arranged to keep his mission as low-key as possible, which bothered him. _Just what am I letting myself in for this time?_ he wondered, as he stepped from the cab and headed into the jet.


	4. Leaving Nothing to Chance

_**Leaving Nothing to Chance**_

* * *

 **His meeting finished,** Admiral Nelson breathed a sigh of relief that his, Selby and Wilson's plan for Operation: Counterforce had been adopted, but it hadn't been without a fight, despite what had happened to John and the other four men of his crew.

Of course the Air Force would think that moving nearly a billion people in such a narrow time frame was feasible; as forward-looking as the United States' youngest service was, some of its senior staff were still mired in early Cold War thinking.

The question remained who he was going to get to command _Seaview_? Morton was competent, but still unseasoned for such a dangerous mission. And with family on the coast, Nelson didn't want to put the Lieutenant Commander in that position, at least not without some more grooming—and that kind of time he didn't have. There were only eleven days left to avert the impending disaster to the Northern Hemisphere.

As if reading his thoughts, the committee chairman approached him to offer his condolences. "Well, Admiral, a darn shame about Phillips; wasn't it? He was a good man."

"The best," he replied quietly in remembrance of his friend. "I don't know what I'm going to do for a replacement."

"I do." The chairman had an answer immediately. "I've requisitioned the Navy's best submarine officer for you. Do you know anything about a Commander named Crane?

"Lee Crane? Of course." This was the first bit of good news the Admiral had received all day. Crane had been his first choice as a replacement for _Seaview_ 's former XO, but the boat's personnel decisions fell under Phillips purview. It had worked out just as well: Morton had made for an excellent Exec, and Crane had received his first command duty, as Captain of the _Montana_. "A fine officer. Served with me on the _Nautilus_."

At this announcement, Dr. Fred Wilson, who had been maintaining a respectful distance, took a decided interest in the two men's conversation. "I've had some dealings with him." His voice was unimpressed by the Admiral's enthusiasm at the choice for Captain. "My impression is that he's an unimaginative, by-the-book officer. I'm not sure that he's your man." He did nothing to hide his scepticism of the decision.

"I'll take my chances with Crane." Nelson wondered how much or how little the man knew of his soon-to-be temporary Captain. Under his command aboard the _Nautilus_ , the young LTJG had proved himself more than capable.

"Well, you've got him. Oh, and Admiral a word of caution: they killed Phillips, but they were really gunning for you—and they still are. You be careful my friend. Be careful."

The chairman didn't have to repeat his words of caution; Nelson was fully aware that the enemy was on the move to stop the success of this mission. That was why they weren't taking any chances on the return trip from Vandenberg: both he and Wilson would be flying back to NIMR via a fully armed USAF jet, which would accompany the transport carrying the Arctic nuclear device, and landing directly on base. This time they were on the offensive, and weren't going to be caught up short again.

He'd radio Chip with his and Wilson's ETA, as soon as he could.

*.*.*.*.*

Lee was barely into the Learjet, when the door was shut and sealed behind him.

"Better take a seat, Commander. We'll be airborne in a couple of minutes."

He nodded to his contact, who didn't waste time with an introduction, merely pointing to a conference table with swivel seats surrounding it.

Crane took a seat and fastened his seatbelt; all the while sizing up his situation and the man who would be briefing him on his latest assignment.

The man looked to be in his late twenties/early thirties, with dark blond hair and grey eyes. His face wore an impassive expression, giving the outward appearance of indifference to this mission. But looks were deceiving. The Commander noted the steely determination behind the man's eyes, and that his body language was deceptive, as well: while giving the appearance of an unhurried bureaucrat, he was poised like a cobra ready to strike.

Taking a seat across the conference table from him, the man picked up the telephone handset, giving instructions for the pilot to depart immediately.

Crane was certain that his contact relished his position of power within the organisation, as he obviously didn't intend to apprise him of the mission—or even dispense with formalities—until they were safely airborne. He had the distinct impression that despite where his opposite ranked within the intelligence community, this was not someone to get on the wrong side of. He had a feeling the man had a long memory, and could—and probably had—made life _difficult_ for operatives before.

*.*.*.*.*

Once they'd reached a cruising altitude of what Lee guessed was about twenty-five thousand feet, his controller finally spoke.

"Care for a cup of coffee?" It was said in a relaxed, easy-going manner, which belied what was hidden behind the actual words.

"Actually, I'd prefer to get down to business first, sir," replied Lee.

The man nodded with satisfaction. "Good. I'm glad to see that the reports on you were accurate. Business before any other agenda.

"You've no doubt heard of the SSRN _Seaview_?" he asked.

Lee nodded, but added nothing to the conversation.

"Her Captain was killed this afternoon." His tone was smooth and matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the day's weather forecast. "The DoD and ONI want you taking temporary command of her."

Things had taken a decided turn, and not in a good way, thought Lee. Whatever his assignment, it must be serious enough that both organisations didn't trust temporarily turning over the sub's command to her XO, his longtime friend Chip Morton. "What's my mission?" he asked.

"Admiral Nelson has your orders; you'll receive them once you're aboard."

"I understand."

His controller shook his head. "No, I'm afraid you don't. Captain Phillips and four of _Seaview_ 's crew were assassinated this afternoon. Nelson was lucky to have survived the attack. We know there was a breach in security—whether on our end, or at the Nelson Institute of Marine Research—we're not certain. What we do know from CHP and FBI reports was that there was a tracking device placed on the car they were driving to Vandenberg."

"Then, I'm to assume the leak's at NIMR?"

"It's possible; their security's not as tight as our own or the Pentagon's. But the enemy had enough warning to plan an ambush, and _Seaview_ was on radio silence once Nelson had his last communiqué with the Pentagon."

"So, you want me to look for the leak aboard the sub and/or at the Institute?"

"If we had the luxury of time, we would. From our end, your orders are to assume that there is a leak, and you're to take all necessary precautions to ensure the mission's complete success."

Lee nodded, knowing exactly what was meant by _all necessary precautions._

"We've kitted you with everything you'll need." He pointed to a duffel and carry bag on the floor along the wall of the plane. "Didn't want anyone thinking you left the _Montana_ as anything but a sailor out for a good time."

As there was a leak, it made sense, thought Lee. And despite his friendship with Chip, he was going to need to at least get a feel for how well the boat was secured.

Grabbing the duffel to see what they'd packed for him, he asked his control, "Do you have the layout for NIMR?" A plan for his arrival aboard _Seaview_ was already beginning to form, and he wanted to see exactly what obstacles he might need to overcome.

*.*.*.*.*

From the items they packed for him, Lee had decided on a black sweater, pants and jacket, instead of arriving in his uniform. Until he received his final orders concerning the mission, security at NIMR remained his primary concern, and he intended to test his new command on the matter as soon as he arrived on base.

When the Learjet touched down at the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport, the plane had gone directly to a hanger, avoiding the terminal itself.

"Your orders to take temporary command of _Seaview._ " His contact slid the paperwork across the conference table toward him. Lee briefly reviewed them, then placed those, along with his military ID, inside his jacket's inner pocket.

"There's a car standing by to take you directly to NIMR. Do you have any final questions?"

He shook his head. They'd laid out the urgency of his mission, without defining exactly what it entailed, beside his taking command of the research sub. And he had formed his own plan of action regarding entering the base and meeting with his crew. He wasn't crazy about the idea of possibly putting Chip in the hot seat—this was the first time since their Academy days that they'd be serving together—but he brushed those thoughts aside: friendship had to take a back seat to the success of any mission.


	5. A Battle on Three Fronts

_**A Battle on Three Fronts**_

 **Author's Note : **I'd like to thank my readers for their very gracious reviews.

* * *

 **The flight from Vandenberg had been uneventful.** It looked like the enemy wasn't about to attempt an attack on an armed USAF aircraft, especially in US airspace. The Admiral and Wilson had spent the short flight in relative silence. Nelson could tell that Wilson was still unhappy about the choice of a replacement for Phillips. Though, he wanted to broach the subject concerning the scientist's objections, he thought better of it. Wilson had a tendency toward arrogance, if given half a chance, and knowing Lee Crane throughout his years at Annapolis and aboard the _Nautilus_ , Nelson suspected that whatever their interactions had been, Lee wouldn't have tolerated the scientist's hubris.

When the planes landed at NIMR, the Admiral was impressed to see the number of armed SPs standing by. While Park would take the credit for it, no doubt it was Morton's doing. The XO had made it clear in their limited radio conversation that security had been beefed up in his absence, and he had both Park and Emery re-evaluating personnel in an attempt to locate the infiltrator.

Looking out the window of the aircraft, Nelson was also heartened to see that the Exec had a car standing by to take Wilson and he directly to _Seaview_. The clock was ticking down, and the sooner that he, Wilson and Crane were aboard, the sooner this mission could get underway.

*.*.*.*.*

Lee was unimpressed with the way security was handled aboard _Seaview._ True, he hadn't made it very far into the submarine itself before being caught, but he shouldn't have gotten as far as he had.

He'd proceeded to give the order that the sub was to remain on full alert.

Since this was to be a temporary assignment, he decided his best course of action was to maintain a rigid formality between himself and the boat's XO. He'd always preferred the easy-going, mostly informal-formality he'd held between himself and Dave Walker, but he and Chip had a long history from their Academy days, and he didn't want it to appear that their friendship would influence any of his command decisions.

So both stood on the dock in silence awaiting the imminent arrival of Admiral Nelson and Dr. Fred Wilson, while crewmen were loading supplies and preparing the sub for departure.

They didn't have long to wait, as the industrial elevator, which handled supplies and transport vehicles to _Seaview_ 's berth five-hundred feet below the Nelson Institute, arrived and discharged the motorcycle SP escort and Admiral Nelson's limousine. The car came to a stop, and Nelson and Wilson stepped out.

Coming to attention, he and Chip saluted the Admiral. Despite Nelson's grim expression, Lee was relieved to see at least one friendly face. Except for Morton, the crew were still unaware of Captain Phillips's death, and were not pleased by having someone they considered an interloper take command.

"Glad to have you with us, Lee." The Admiral shook his former LTJG's hand heartily; Crane had come a long way since those early days.

A lot was conveyed by the strong handshake from his superior, and Crane smiled slightly at his former Captain. "Thank you, Admiral."

Nodding toward the XO, Nelson began introductions: "Dr. Wilson, this is Chip Morton, our Exec."

Both men nodded a formal greeting.

"And I believe you know our Skipper?" Nelson was curious to see how deeply Wilson's dislike for his sub's temporary Captain went. He didn't have long to wait, as the scientist cut Lee's welcome aboard off with a perfunctory "Hullo, Crane."

The Admiral could see that Wilson's coldness had caught Lee by surprise, but the Commander quickly recovered himself, and put up what Nelson had always called that stone wall of military decorum to mask any emotion he might reveal. He'd seen it enough times at the Academy and aboard the _Nautilus_ to know its signs.

"How soon can we get moving?" The scientist's tone was more a command than a request.

Nelson replied, "The moment we get our special cargo aboard." He looked at his Captain, "Lee?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell them to get the lead out. I want a Northwest heading at full speed." With the order for departure given, the Admiral and Wilson boarded the boat.

Lee turned to his XO: "Mr. Morton, hurry the detail, and prepare to get underway."

"Aye-aye, sir."

*.*.*.*.*

Once the sub was safely into international waters, Lee found himself sitting in the Admiral's cabin finally being briefed, and reviewing the orders he'd been awaiting.

As he read through them, he understood exactly why they'd kept him in the dark concerning what his actual mission was. Finding a deep cover plant on base would have been a walk in the park compared to this.

The Admiral watched his Captain's response to what he'd just read. "Any questions?"

"No, sir." He shook his head. "The orders are quite clear: to complete the mission I'm to regard _Seaview_ and her entire crew as expendable."

Nelson was proud of the man seated before him. There was no hesitation in Crane's voice as he accepted what could very well turn into a suicide mission. He chortled a bit, "If you have the choice, though, Captain, I assume you'll bring us all back alive."

Lee returned the Admiral's banter with a brief chuckle. "I sort of planned on coming back myself, sir." And he damned well did.

The Admiral stood, and went over to the shelf in front of his television monitor. His orderly always kept a percolator brewing. "Coffee?"

"Uh, no thank you."

Nelson was a bit surprised by Crane's polite refusal; he could remember a time when the man practically lived on the beverage.

"With your permission, Admiral, I'd like to announce the mission to the crew."

Shaking his head, Nelson replied, "Sorry, lad. The crew is to consider this a routine mission. Tell them course and destination; nothing else.

Lee was perplexed as he replied, "Aye, sir."

The Admiral looked toward his Captain, as he poured himself a cup of the strong brew. "Confused, Lee."

"Completely," he acknowledged. It also was a forewarning that things aboard _Seaview_ and in the regular Navy were handled very differently. "In the Navy, I always told my crew all mission details once we were safely at sea."

"Lee, if the men discover even the slightest hint of the calamity threatening their families, this sub will become a floating pressure cooker. Not knowing, they only have themselves to worry about. They're good men; they won't crack."

"I understand, sir." The Admiral was right; he still had a lot to learn about this crew.

Coffee cup in hand, Nelson again took his seat behind his desk. His brow furrowed. "There's something else you should know: there's a certain powerful worldwide force, which welcomes the very disaster we're trying to prevent." His voice rose, "They seem to know our plans, as soon as we do, and they'll go to any lengths to stop us."

"This sounds like a wartime mission, sir." Lee's tone reflected the Admiral's gravitas.

"In a very real sense, we _are_ at war. We have no way of guessing how or where they'll strike, but one thing I can promise you, they _will_ strike. From now on, we run submerged. Carry on."

"Aye-aye, sir." Dismissed, he rose, and headed for the control room.

*.*.*.*.*

From Chip's questioning response to his order to maintain full speed, Lee recognized that his current position as Captain left him fighting on two fronts: the enemy that the Admiral had spoken of, and the crew, who, though they would follow his orders, had no reason beside his rank to feel any loyalty to the man temporarily replacing their much-respected Skipper.

As he, Nelson and Wilson sat in _Seaview_ 's nose discussing the placement of the Operation: Counterforce bomb, he re-adjusted his calculations: three fronts. Wilson was doing nothing to hide his personal dislike of him, and kept calling into question every recommendation he made.

Crane was not having any of it, though, and was, no doubt, antagonizing the scientist further, by not backing down when he knew exactly where his duty lay: with the successful completion of the mission.

As a rating came by with some much welcome coffee, the boat was suddenly rocked by explosions on its port side.

 _Depth charges,_ thought Lee. For him, at least, this was a hands-on crisis; something he could take control of, especially after feeling like _he_ was the intruder aboard.

After giving the order to rig for attack, both he and the Admiral bolted for the control room. If he'd had time to spare Wilson a glance, he would have seen the fear that passed across the scientist's face.

*.*.*.*.*

Even though this was a temporary assignment, Lee had shown his mettle by successfully navigating the vessel through the attack.

But it was Kowalski's question at Damage Control that threw him a punch to the gut, "Captain, what the devil's going on?"

Though the mission was still classified as top secret, there wasn't a man aboard who didn't know that something serious was up and this was no longer a routine assignment. No doubt, the crew had already connected some of the dots to the absence of Phillips and the other crew members that had accompanied Nelson earlier.

All eyes in the control room were on him, and Lee could imagine the thoughts running through each of their heads.

He moistened his dry lips, and grasped the communications mic in his hand, debating exactly how far he could push the "top secret" envelope.

Sensing his disquiet, Nelson offered his support, "You'll have to tell them something now, lad. Make it as little as possible."

Nodding, he began, "This is the Captain. The mission we're on is top secret. All I can tell you at this time is that there are forces who are determined to stop us. They haven't succeeded, yet. And to make sure they don't _Seaview_ is now on war alert." _Though, how much good that will do us with missile and torpedo systems knocked out, I don't know,_ he thought to himself.

He barely got the words "secure from battle stations" out before encountering another obstacle: the sound of a cable scraping across the hull, as sonar went completely dead.


	6. More Than Meets the Eye

_**More Than Meets the Eye**_

 **Author's Note** : I don't really know how to express my appreciation for all the kind reviews this story has generated. You don't know how much your enjoyment of it means to me. My best to you all!

* * *

The vessel was on the ocean floor, per the Captain's order to come to a full stop. The clock had counted down to six days, and without sonar they were completely blind navigating submerged. And all knew that a surface run would be impossible, not just due to the recent attack, but the speed they would be able to achieve, and once they reached the polar ice floes.

"We've blown it," said Wilson in frustration, looking out _Seaview_ 's window. He was too disheartened by this turn of events to continue venting his spleen at Crane.

The Admiral was already trying to conceive an alternate plan, but given the limited amount of time left, even he saw the hopelessness of the situation.

Crane, however, had already formed his own plan. If the sonar mast had detached from the submarine, it still must be within their vicinity—even allowing for shifting currents—before it had likely come to rest on the seabed, It was a gamble, he knew, but considering the alternative, he was more than willing to take the risk.

Lee put his proposal to Nelson, certain that his commanding officer would see its potential."If that scraping sound was the mast tearing loose, it must be somewhere nearby."

"I don't see how that helps us," said Wilson

 _Of course, you wouldn't._ Lee thought. _That'd be too much to ask._

"I could put a party of divers out. If they can find the gear, we can surface, and repair the damage within an hour."

"It's a long shot, Lee, but it's worth the risk." The Admiral's tone had taken on its first hopeful edge since sonar went dead.

"Right, sir. Three divers can do the job." He nodded, "I'll need two volunteers."

"Two?" asked Wilson, somewhat surprised.

"I'm going with them." Lee's tone was adamant.

Nelson wasn't surprised by Lee's readiness to volunteer: from his time spent on the _Nautilus_ , the Admiral knew that Crane was always ready to place his life on the line for his crewmates or the success of a mission. However, as Captain, there were other responsibilities that needed to be considered.

The Admiral's answer spoke volumes: "Oh, no you're not. As Skipper, you're too valuable to risk on a diving mission."

Lee had steeled himself for his superior's objections, and was ready with his response, "If we fail, sir, nothing else is going to make much difference."

The Commander was correct. Six days were barely enough time for an evacuation order. Moving nearly a billion people would have been relatively easy compared to returning them to their devastated homes, and in some cases countries. The infrastructure for some of the world's most important cities—New York, Washington, London—couldn't be picked up and moved, and unlike LA, San Francisco and Tokyo, most of the buildings in those cities were not designed to withstand earthquakes, let alone a succession of tidal waves.

Over his own objections, the Admiral gave the only reply to Crane's logic that he could, "Pick your men."

"Aye-aye, sir."

As Crane left the nose, Nelson gave Wilson a challenging glance, daring the man to continue his badgering of the _Seaview_ 's Skipper.

Wilson's eyes acquiesced his response that maybe Nelson was right, and there was more to Lee Crane than he knew.

*.*.*.*.*

As preparations were made for the diving party to depart _Seaview,_ Wilson forced his way into joining the team, claiming to be _the best diver onboard_. Whether it was a testament to the scientist's capabilities as a skilled diver, or his poor attempt at an apology, Lee didn't give a damn. Finding the sonar mast, and the success of the mission were all that concerned him. The more eyes out there searching for the gear, the better the chance for success.

It also occurred to him that if allowing Wilson on this search mission could broker a temporary truce between them, it'd be one less headache he'd have to deal with as they got closer to zero hour. So, appearing to swallow his pride, he answered Wilson simply, "Forgive me, I didn't realise that. We nearly left without you."

Nelson covered his smirk well. He recognized the sarcasm deftly hidden behind Lee's words; something which Wilson's arrogance didn't pick up on.

*.*.*.*.*

Once outside the sub, the team began the arduous and dangerous task of searching for the missing sonar mast in the inky depths.

Lee caught sight of a shark, and his training kicked into gear, as he fired his spear gun for a direct hit into the creature. The blood trail might attract other scavengers; so, he signaled his team to use their repellent, and keep at the ready.

Something metallic caught his signal light, and glimmered at him. He breathed a grateful thank you to whatever gods watched over fools and sea captains, as he dove for the object. Sure enough, it was the mast, and it looked to be in one piece, just the cable appeared to be snapped. He was so single-minded in his intent that he didn't notice what was camouflaged by the sea floor's foliage: a giant squid, hungry for its next meal.

As he was about to grab the mast, he felt the current around him shift as a humongous tentacle coiled itself around his torso , and attempted to drag him to its waiting orifice.

Thankfully the others in the diving party saw his plight, and came to his aid with their spear guns and magnesium flares, aiming either to kill the creature—something he doubted their limited weaponry was capable of—or give him the chance to break free.

The creature, not wanting to lose its meal, also fought back, tightening its hold on him. Between the water slowing down his movements and the squid's pressure on his chest, he was taking a beating. Even with his life in the balance, the irony of the situation wasn't lost on him: Wilson had been a valuable asset to his plan of using only three divers. Having a fourth diver had probably saved his life: they were making enough of a distraction and, no doubt, causing the thing so much pain that Lee was finally able to wrench himself free.

As the Chief and Malone supported him, Wilson took the opportunity to grab the sonar mast, no doubt wanting to play the role of hero once they were all safely back aboard. Lee shook his head. Let the man have his moment in the spotlight, if it was so vitally important to him; completing the mission successfully and getting the crew back in one piece were _his_ top priorities.

*.*.*.*.*

Back aboard the sub, Crane was nursing his bruised ribs, as he worked his way out of his diving gear. He was indebted to Wilson for his help, but the scene aboard was just as he imagined it: The scientist taking the credit for retrieving the sonar mast, by hefting it like a prized trophy.

Lee held out his hand toward Wilson in an amiable gesture.

Wilson smiled heartily, as he shook the Captain's hand. "I told you I was the best diver aboard."

Lee shook his head slightly. It was all about ego with Wilson. He had bruised the scientist's ego when he was XO of the USS _Tecumseh,_ by daring to disagree with his proposal for an inspection of the Pacific ridge plates. Even though he was over-ridden by both his CO and Wilson, Lee still stood by his recommendation that Wilson's plan would place the boat in a dangerous position along the ocean floor. True, he'd only been an Executive Officer for a few months, but it was his duty to point out any risk involved for the crew or the boat. The scientist definitely knew how to hold a grudge.

"Captain," said Nelson, "I want you to report to sickbay."

Admittedly he was sore from the tussle with the squid, but to take time out from the mission for the ship's doctor to tell him he had a couple of bruised ribs was, he believed, a waste.

"I'll be fine, Admiral," he replied. "I'm sore, but that's to be expected. And I've got a mission to complete."

Nelson knew all too well how much the Commander hated sick bay, hospitals, and anything—short of an attractive nurse—having to do with doctors, but he would brook no excuse. "It'll take the crew about an hour to repair the sonar mast. You can spare that much time, Captain, and that's an order."

*.*.*.*.*

It didn't matter whether it was a sick bay aboard a Navy vessel or Cedars-Sinai: no matter where you were, all hospitals carried that same disquieting scent of antiseptic.

The doctor seemed pleasant and capable enough as he probed Lee's ribs, but he'd still have preferred to be anywhere else aboard.

"We haven't been formally introduced Captain, I'm Lieutenant Commander Will Jamieson."

"Commander." He winced a bit, as the doctor hit a decidedly tender spot.

"The Admiral's already alerted me that I shouldn't expect you to be one of my easier patients."

Lee smiled slightly. "I'm here, Doctor, aren't I?"

Jamieson raised an eyebrow. "It's what you already guessed: you've got a couple of badly bruised ribs."

"But otherwise I'm fine." The tone he said it in was a challenge: a challenge to the one man who could technically classify him unfit for duty.

"Otherwise, you're fine, yes. Though I do want to bandage those ribs; it'll help make you a bit more comfortable. I suspect I'd have to tie you down to keep you in sickbay, anyway."

"All right," acquiesced Lee. "Do what you've got to do, Doc, so I can return to duty ASAP."


	7. Countdown to Zero Hour

_**Countdown to Zero Hour**_

 **Author's Notes : **With all the wonderful writers in this fandom, I'm simply gobsmacked by the reception this story is getting. I'd like to thank everyone so much for their generous reviews and support.  
*I cheated a little with the _Seaview_ 's crush depth. According to episode canon it was 3400 feet, but as the series progressed, it changed so often that I settled on my own standard of 5000 feet (833.33 fathoms).

* * *

 **It had taken longer than the hour Lee had estimated for the sonar mast to be repaired.** Though the Admiral had practically bitten his head off when he first came aboard for considering the crew _soft on security,_ he still believed the men were not living up to their full potential: no doubt, in part, having to adjust to a temporary Captain whose expectations they were unfamiliar with.

While his own part of the mission remained top secret; scuttlebutt was starting to spread like a virus among the men. Though none broached the question, all were voicing their worry about Phillips and their fellow crewmates. The Admiral and Chip had clamped the lid down on their speculation, but Lee was more concerned about the possibility of flagging morale. While a boat was only as good as the man who captains her, a captain was only as good as his crew; and he had six days to get the crew up to speed on what he expected from them.

So, between reviewing situational reports with the Admiral and Wilson, he was having Chip run the men through a series of drills to be prepared for any eventuality. Nelson was emphatic that an implacable enemy was still out there, biding its time; and with missile and torpedo systems inoperative, he wanted the boat prepared to defend itself in whatever way possible.

*.*.*.*.*

Six days down, and only two hours 'til countdown; it should have been cause for celebration, but it wasn't. The sub had yet to locate open water in order to broach the surface, and sonar had picked up what might be another sub within range.

As Lee double-checked the sonar man's readings, Nelson and Wilson entered the control room. Even after six days of relative calm, the scientist couldn't help but make his demands known; however the Captain had far more important things to worry about than bruising the man's ego, as he continued reviewing the sonar console.

He didn't have long to wait, as the sonar man called out, "Captain, unidentified fast propellers. Bearing zero-nine-zero. Short scale pinging."

"They don't give up easily, do they," said Nelson grimly.

Without torpedoes and missile systems, the _Seaview_ was relatively helpless, as the sounds of torpedoes bearing down on her became all too apparent.

Whether the enemy sub was a drone or its captain was incompetent didn't matter, the torpedoes had missed their mark—though just barely.

Lee gave the order for battle stations; glad to see the drills he'd been putting the crew through had paid off. They had assumed their positions in about half the time they had six days ago.

Still with missiles and torpedoes inoperable there was only one course of action open to him: "Dive. All dive. Full speed ahead."

Their chances of out-manoeuvering the enemy sub's next onslaught were slim to none, but Lee was going to give it everything he had for the lives of his men.

When the next barrage hit a wall of rocks, shaking the sub from port to starboard, Lee called out, "This is your baby, Admiral, how much pressure can she take?"

"Five-thousand feet*—on the drawing board. If we can take more pressure than she can, she'll blow."

Another barrage rocked the boat, as Lee kept moving the sub like a chess piece from hard to port to hard to starboard in an attempt to keep the skipper of the other boat off-balance. Thankfully, that sub's commander was proving to be one hell of a lousy shot.

Dropping below thirty-five-hundred feet, the _Seaview_ was rocked by another explosion. No doubt the other sub couldn't handle that kind of pressure and had imploded.

As Lee gave the order to secure from battle stations, the sonar man called out, "Captain, clear, fast water dead ahead."

Despite the attack, the enemy had done them an invaluable service, taking the _Seaview_ into an area of open water from which they could surface and transport the Operation: Counterforce device.

*.*.*.*.*

Attired in the their winter-weather gear, Crane, and Kowalski were on the flying bridge, overseeing the crew as they unloaded the device, which would be towed to its destination by an Arctic snowcat driven by Wilson, who would be accompanied by Smn. Malone, while Admiral Nelson was below deck preparing to get readings on the first earthquake.

Lee already sensed the rating's disquiet around him; he'd made his loyalty to Phillips very clear, and to him Crane was clearly an interloper. He couldn't blame him, though, it took a good man to secure that kind of loyalty from his men, and John Phillips would no doubt be an irreplaceable captain.

*.*.*.*.*

With the readings for the first quake in hand, Nelson had O'Brien prepare to feed that information into the sub's computer. Once they had triangulated where and when the second quake would occur via Wilson's readings, they'd be able to place the Counterforce bomb in the correct location to offset the impact of that quake.

*.*.*.*.*

Lee had just come below deck, and removed his gear, when the battle stations klaxon sounded.

"Plane coming seven o'clock low, closing fast." Kowalski's voice came through the speakers from the flying bridge. He was the only one aboard with a direct line of site to the attacking plane.

The rating's visual coordinates were no comfort to the Captain: this time the enemy wasn't attempting an attack on _Seaview._ They were preparing to take out the Counterforce device directly.

The Captain picked up the nearest mic, in the radio shack, and reported to his CO, who was desperately trying to contact Wilson and Malone.

"Admiral, that plane got under our radar screen. We had no approach warning." How Lee detested saying those words; it sounded like he was making excuses to someone whose respect was important to him. Those words also bespoke failure; something he wasn't prepared to accept.

Through the speakers, Lee heard the tautness in Nelson's voice. "Any indication how close they came to a direct hit?"

"None, sir," replied Lee. "I've ordered radar to keep scanning for the plane. It may be back.

"If they got Wilson, they won't have to come back." His tone was grim. "Lee, it may be all over."

"Admiral, what are the orders now?"

"Stand fast, and wait. There's nothing else we can do."

There might not have been anything else _they_ could do, but Lee had already decided on his own course of action. His decision was only reinforced by the weak signal Sparks was picking up from Wilson, stating that while the device was undamaged both he and Malone were injured and wouldn't be returning.

As Lee made his way to _Seaview_ 's nose to place his proposal before the Admiral, he could hear Wilson's weak voice being piped through the speakers: "I'm setting the timer now. You need at least three hours to get the sub safely away from the blast. This means you've got to dive in forty-four minutes."

Making his way down the spiral staircase to the nose, Lee heard the Admiral shout to Wilson, "Wait! Wait! How long will it take you to get back here?"

The resignation in Wilson's voice was unmistakable. "Too long. Malone can't move, and with my shoulder I can't dig out the snowcat. It looks like we're stuck here. You better get the sub out of here. So long, Admiral." The scientist severed the connection.

In the silence that followed Wilson's last transmission, Lee went to Nelson to propose his gambit: "We've got forty-four minutes, sir. If I can find them, and uncover the snow cat, I can bring them back in time."

"And if you can't dig it out?" It was a redundant question, as Nelson knew there was only one decision left for him to make.

"You've got no choice, sir, pull the plug and scramble."

*.*.*.*.*

Nelson, Chip and Kowalski were on the flying bridge as the Captain and the Chief trudged through the snow, watching until they were completely obscured by the desolate terrain.

Chip noted the time until zero hour: "Thirty-two minutes to go, Admiral." While he kept a stoic expression, he was as worried as Nelson about the lives of the Chief and his best friend.

"Sir," asked Kowalski, "will they get Malone back in time?"

"I don't know, lad," answered Nelson, "We dive in thirty-two minutes, whether they're back or not."

"You mean, sir, the Captain went out there knowing that?" Crane's actions had definitely surprised the rating.

"He did." Nelson's tone was solemn.

*.*.*.*.*

Lee hadn't expected the Chief to volunteer to accompany him, though the more muscle for digging out the snowcat, the better. He was more than willing to gamble his own life on what might be a fool's errand, but now he had the Chief's safety to worry about, as well.

With the snow swirling around them, visibility was poor; and it was easy to get lost in that terrain.

"We've missed them," said Lee.

"If we don't find them now, we'll never make it," replied the Chief.

Lee tried his portable radio again, "Wilson, this is Crane, can you read me? Come in."

They finally got a response, _I can barely hear you. Where are you?_

"Wilson, I'm going to fire a flare. Tell me where you see it."

The response on the radio was garbled, and Lee had to ask him to repeat his message.

 _Overhead. Directly overhead._

With at least a direction to go, Lee and the Chief hurried toward the scientist, whose location thankfully wasn't far from their own, just obscured by the heavy snow fall and the bleak terrain.

If you could call it lucky, the debris surrounding the snowcat had actually made it easier to locate; it made the site stand out against the flat background of the landscape.

Despite the knowledge that rescue was at hand, Malone and Wilson had succumbed to despair. Both were leaning against the snowcat merely counting down the minutes until they were overcome by hypothermia, or the device activated. It seemed to matter little to them which came first, and Lee and the Chief had to drag them away from the snowcat to begin the process of clearing the debris, and getting back to, what the Captain hoped was a waiting sub.

*.*.*.*.*

Still on the flying bridge, the Admiral, Chip and Kowalski were somber.

"Sir, it's five minutes past diving time," Chip reluctantly gave the countdown. _Damn it, Lee, where the hell are you?_

The Admiral also gave an order he wasn't pleased about, "Stand-by to dive."

Kowalski's news wasn't much better: "Sir, Sparks has lost all radio contact, but Damage Control reports that the missile firing system is finally repaired."

Nelson never liked irony. "It doesn't help us much now, does it? Take her down, Mr. Morton."

The rating rose to his lost companions defense, "Sir, if we dive now, they're dead."

"If we don't," snapped Nelson, "everyone's dead."

"Aye, sir," replied Chip. "Prepare to dive."

Kowalski's report from radar stopped that order, "Sir, radar reports unidentified plane bearing one-forty. Closing fast."

"Sound general quarters," ordered Chip.

"Battle stations! Battle stations!" yelled 'Ski

"That must be the drone again. Blast her out of the sky before it hits us."

"Fire control intercept," barked the XO.

 _Intercept missile locked on target._

"Fire missile one."

The sub shuddered as the missile was launched. Three pairs of eyes watched expectantly as the missile collided with the plane, destroying its target.

 _There's nothing to celebrate. Looks like Lee's luck has finally run out,_ thought Chip, as he gave the order which would save the crew's lives, while ending the life of one of his closest friends, "Clear the deck. Prepare to dive."

The Admiral, thankfully thought Chip, countermanded his order, "Belay that! There they are." He pointed to the snowcat which had seemed to materialise from nowhere.

 _Lee, you son of a bitch,_ thought Chip, _You'd make a killing in Vegas._

*.*.*.*.*

"You shouldn't have waited to bring us back," began Wilson, who had already been treated and released from sick bay. "You're thirty minutes too close to the point of impact. That double-blast could kill everyone onboard.

"We'll have to take that chance," replied Nelson.

They'd already crashed dived to five-hundred feet with reactors moving the sub at full speed from the danger zone.

"This is the Captain," came Lee's voice through the sub's speakers. "In fifteen seconds, we're going to catch the full force from two gigantic explosions. Now, all hands brace yourselves." He counted down the seconds until the blasts.

The submarine was caught between one natural explosion and one man-made one, as the polar ice floes began to tear apart, dropping ice shards into the sea water like a bartender would drop ice into a highball glass.

Systems throughout the boat rebelled and shorted out with the strain, but Nelson's sub remained intact.

Lee gave the order for the sub to dive to one-thousand feet, barely one-hundred-fifty feet from the seabed, but it was the only way to save the boat from the ice that was threatening to stave in the side of the sub.

Reaching a lower depth, even with that little manoeuvering room from the keel to the bottom had probably saved the boat, as they were finally free of the ice.

"Good job, Captain."

Though grateful for it, Lee brushed aside Nelson's compliment. There'd be time for that later, once they were clear of the ice floes and making for port.


	8. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

 **Author's Note : **I'd like to thank my readers for all their support and encouragement while this story was percolating. I can't express how grateful I am for your kind reviews and the reception this story received. I'm sincerely humbled.

* * *

Once in the relative safety of open water, Adm. Nelson finally apprised the crew on what the exact nature of their mission had been, and specifically why the boat had been on such high alert. While not happy with being kept in the dark for so long, most understood the Admiral's logic. But whatever ill feelings they might have had were overshadowed when the Admiral made the announcement of Captain John Phillips and their four fellow crewmates's deaths.

A memorial was to be held in the ward room, with _Seaview_ 's chaplain, Dr. William Jamieson, leading the service, which would be piped throughout the boat for those unable to attend due to duty.

Once again, Lee felt like the intruder aboard. He was the stranger amongst a crew that the Admiral had hand-selected for what the press once labelled, "Nelson's Folly".

He wanted to attend the memorial, out of respect for a fallen comrade, but decided that remaining in the control room, and freeing up a few more men to attend the service, would likely be best for everyone.

There was, however, someone he did need to talk with, and it was not likely to be an easy conversation for either of them.

*.*.*.*.*

After the memorial service, the Admiral called Chip into his office to speak with him on a matter he felt was of some importance.

"Please have a seat, Commander."

"Thank you, sir."

"I realize it's been less than two weeks, but I wanted to discuss with you a replacement for Phillips." He lit a cigarette, and offered the XO one.

"No thanks, sir. I'm trying to cut back." He waved the proffered pack away. "The same thing's been on my mind, as well."

"I'm thinking of offering the position to Cmdr. Crane, but I wanted to get your opinion first."

Chip was grateful that the Admiral had enough respect for him to ask his view on the matter.

"You two have a long history together, and from what I recall a close friendship." He flicked the ashes into the tray, and put down the cigarette. "Though I didn't see much informal interaction between you two."

"We're still friends, sir, if that's what you're wondering," replied Chip. _At least, I hope we are._ Lee had been one hell of a taskmaster for this mission, but then he, like the Admiral, had the survival of the Northern Hemisphere sitting on his shoulders.

"You want to know how I'd feel serving under him on a permanent basis?"

"That, and if you think he'd make a good fit within the Institute."

"Lee's always been good at anything he sets his mind to; so, I doubt he'd have any trouble working for the Institute, sir. His rescue of Wilson and Malone gave the men a chance to judge his merits, and I think quite a few were impressed."

Nelson nodded his agreement.

"As for me," Chip paused before continuing, "I think we'd be able to work together well enough. Of course, there'd need to be some adjustment on both our parts to maintain a distinct line between the personal and the professional, so as not to interfere with any command decisions. But I think this mission proved that already, sir."

 _Lee's always set his sights on a career track,_ thought Chip. _Would he want to give up the possibility of being Admiral by the time he's 40?_

*.*.*.*.*

The atmosphere in the control room was subdued, when Chip returned from his meeting with Nelson. The men had resumed their stations, and Lee was checking their course and speed for the return to Santa Barbara.

"Mr. Morton," said Crane, as he saw his XO enter. "I'd like to see you in my cabin." There was no hint of familiarity in his tone.

"Aye, sir."

 _This is my lucky day,_ thought Chip, _a meeting with both the Admiral and Captain._

"Mr. O'Brien," said Lee, "you have the con."

The junior officer gave his acknowledgement to the order.

As they walked back to the Captain's cabin, Chip made a mental note that Lee seemed melancholy, as though once the mission were over, there was little left for him to do. And if there was one thing Lee Crane thrived on, it was action.

Entering the cabin, Lee closed the door behind them.

"I'm sorry about keeping you in the dark regarding this mission," began Lee, "but DoD and ONI made my orders very clear."

Chip chortled. "I did wonder why you were commanding the boat like you had a stick up your ass."

Lee joined in with a laugh, "Spit, polish and the brig, huh?"

"Not really," he shook his head, "I just figured you had a lot on your mind. I know I did."

"I envy you, Chip," said Lee. "This grey lady is one hell of a boat."

"You've got the _Montana_ waiting for you back in San Diego."

Lee shook his head, "I've got the big chair for now. Then well, you know the rules." Crane was referring to the fact that USN Captains only commanded their boats for a limited amount of time, before being pushed up the chain of command.

"The captaincy means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"I never realised it 'til now. Is this what it's going to feel like when I leave the _Montana_ for desk duty?" Just the thought of being stuck behind a desk and not part of the action weighed heavily on his mind.

"I thought you intended to be an Admiral by the time—"

Lee cut him off, "By the time I'm forty. I know. But this mission really made me stop and think about my career path."

"Who knows," said Chip, knowingly, "with your luck, maybe they'll re-write the rules just for you."

*.*.*.*.*

Days later, as the boat sailed down the California coast, the Captain entered the nose where Wilson and the Admiral were having coffee.

"Gentlemen, we make port in two hours." Lee reached for the coffee pot to pour himself a cup.

"Already?" asked Wilson. "Well, I haven't had a chance yet to thank you properly for saving my precious hide."

If this was how Wilson wanted to bury the hatchet, who was he to argue with it: "I figured that'd make us even. Besides, I couldn't afford to lose the best diver aboard, could I?"

"He's got a point."

Lee walked over to the console to look out _Seaview_ 's window, as well as to keep Wilson from seeing him roll his eyes at the comment.

Nelson leaned back in his chair, and asked, "Well, Lee, I suppose you're anxious to return to active duty with the Navy."

"I suppose so, sir. Now that _Seaview_ 's job is finished."

" _Seaview_ 's job is never finished. As long as there are destructive forces in the world…as long as there are secrets of nature to be probed…believe me there'll be work for us, on missions just as vital and as dangerous as this one."

"Cap'n radio message from the Navy Department," said the Chief, as he entered the nose.

"Oh, thanks Curley," he replied, taking the message from the Chief, and reading it.

"Bad news?" asked Wilson, noting the perplexed look on Crane's face.

"I don't know?" He re-read the paper in his hand again, still puzzled "They're telling me I'm out of the Navy."

"Naturally," said Nelson. "How else could you accept the post of permanent Captain of the _Seaview_? That is, if you want it."

Lee smiled in surprise and grateful acknowledgement. Chip was probably already aware of the Admiral's decision, but his words definitely crossed Lee's mind, _Who knows, with your luck, maybe they'll re-write the rules just for you._

 _~ Finis ~_

© 2015 Dash O'Pepper


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